Lies
by Ryrahd
Summary: ExT hints. Selfinjury. It's an addiction, really...you can almost comprehend how close you come to truly living. Tomoyo's POV and language. R&R much appreciated.


A/N: I know, I know, I should be working on 'Danse Macabre' but I've been feeling down and this story continues to plague me even in my sleep. "Why 'Lies'?", I hear you ask, when the story has very little to do with them. Well, because "Lies" was one of the songs I was listening to while writing this and because I needed and 'L' fic ^__^. 

Disclaimer: I do not own Card Captor Sakura, or anything to do with it. I wish I did, but I don't, so na no da!

* * * * * * * * 

****

Lies 

__

Silence,

why won't you listen

Maybe it's just me

but sometimes it's

impossible to breath

A violent whisper

Maybe this time it won't heal

Maybe this time it will bleed until I'm free

~Kent, _747_ (English version)

The red dyes my pale skin. It is an eternal pattern that crises and crosses, connecting and disconnecting until my arm becomes a network of crimson. For a moment I have to wonder at the pretty colour. Should such a brilliant red exist? Maybe it's just for this time only, so I alone can enjoy it? But then, it never truly changes – just gets deeper or lighter. 

What am I doing? How did I come to this? What am I? A cutter, a freak. A masochist, a sicko. I have the urge to laugh but suppress it; I fear my voice would ruin the sacredness of the moment. 

My body is buzzing with adrenaline, with expectation and fear. Would I be caught? Would someone notice? Would it hurt? I can feel my face flush slightly, a smear of heat rushing to my cheeks. It's always thrilling to think about being discovered. Like what I'm doing is so very wrong, so sinful that I must hide like a rat to do it. 

I was in the music room after classes. School must have ended at least an hour ago; the silence of the building is pleasant. I come here every other day for practise, to just pass the time. I liked sitting in this room and just let the sunlight filter in and land on the piano and me. I always felt light here, like my whole body had been set aglow and I'm this little golden star just minding my business. I knew all of the custodians by name, so naturally I knew that they won't bother me when I come here. That's why this is such a good place to perform my little ritual. 

I don't even know why I do it. I don't want to die; I'm not trying to. But there's something inside me, something so momentous and empty – it frightens and overwhelms me... and I just want for it to go away....

I don't remember how it started; I don't want to remember... 

...I need to tell somebody. I need to stop lying to myself and admit that this *is* wrong. There's a huge void in me, burning, aching. I _need_ to tell somebody, I'll die if I won't. I want to so badly. I know it's just words, formed by my vocal chords and lips, but every time I try to say something, the air gets lodged in my throat and the burning increases. I want to tell somebody so badly, but at the same time I'm terrified. What would they think? I know they'd try to stop me, to "help" me, but I don't want to be helped. They know nothing; they can't help, so no matter what they say, I know they're lying to me. 

The burning inside increases until I fear it would explode in a myriad of pain. I'm petrified...

........

Today I was walking through the school garden at lunch break. Our school has the most beautiful garden I've ever seen. There's a little pond all the way behind the second soccer field where apple and plum trees grow. I like going there sometimes because the wind and the soft rustle of the foliage is so gentle and soothing. I usually just stare into the water and pretend that I'm in it – not swimming but flowing like I'm a part of it. 

As I was walking by I overheard a conversation. I know it's wrong and impolite, but you can't really help it if it was an accident, can you?

__

'The only reason she's so popular and gets such high marks is because of her money.' I heard one girl say. I don't even know her. 

__

'I heard that her mother owns half the school. That she bought the principal and the teachers, and even made up the curricular to best suite her precious little daughter.' Another girl said. There was something so very unpleasant in her remark, maybe the snide-ness in her voice or a haughty air. 

The third girl then piped in. _'I don't know about you, but I think that it's because she's such a cocksucker. Don't you ever wonder what she does after school? I've heard that she stays late after classes, almost until nightfall, especially on the days before a test. Whose dick do you suppose she likes to suck on fist? The science teacher's? Or the drama director's?'_

The three girls broke into a fit of giggles. I could hear it echo through the courtyard. 

__

'Ne, I think you're right, Sumiko-chan!' The first one said. _'She must be fucking half the guys in the school by now. Besides, how else could she possibly attract so much male attention? With the way she looks, you'd wonder whether she escaped from a research institution!' _

I didn't want to hear anymore so I ran to my secret spot. 

I didn't have to hear the name of the subject of their discussion to know it was me. I've heard it all before, whispered secretly behind my back. "Anorexic," some murmur behind hands, "whore," whisper others. They pretend they don't notice me when they say such things, and I pretend that I don't hear them. They never say my name either, just nod in my direction as if there was no one else to talk about. Besides, whose mother is rich enough to by a whole school?

I don't care what people say about me; their opinions don't matter. I know that I'm different from them, I know that they might find me strange. I realize that I'm pale and thin enough to be considered skinny, I know that my eyes are an odd shade and that my hair is too long. But it doesn't really matter, not to me anyways. Those people are just jealous, they want what I have and so they try to take some of it away. They're lying, I can see it and feel it like some putrid fog hovering over them. It disgusts me, this ability to form a dogma to solid to oneself that it becomes almost like a religion; a faith so deeply rooted that it blinds all common sense. 

So I left the field for my little pond out back. I just stared into the muddied water, wondering whether I could drown in it. Such small things as appearances never bother me, never stimulate me to do... this... But I feel that ache inside anyway. It won't go away. 

It's funny how it's always the little things that make you do this. Just a mean word or a contemptuous remark and then everything comes crashing down. And before you know it, you're huddled in a corner, hands shaking, digging the sharp edge of the blade deeper into your skin... 

I was so absorbed in just looking at the water, I missed the bell signifying the end of lunch. I came to class late, breathless and sweating because I ran back to school. I ended up missing half of an impromptu test, was reprimanded in front of the entire class and received classroom duties for the entire next week. It was nothing, really. But then I also accidentally added the wrong chemical into my science experiment later in the day, which resulted in my partner's hair being nearly singed. And then I also screwed up on a very crucial note during choir practice, which offset the song, and therefore the entire ten-minute rehearsal. 

I know it's just nothing, mishaps happen, after all. But a ball was rising to my throat and I felt it tightening its hold as the day progressed. By the time the final bell had rung, I could barely breathe. I wanted it -- I needed it. There were hot tears gathering in the corners of my eyes, I had to bite the inside of my cheek in order to keep on sounding normal when I bid Sakura farewell. 

__

Why do I always screw everything up? Why do I have to be so stupid? Why? Why? Why? Why can't I just stop this, why do I have to keep on running, why am I afraid? 

I had this overwhelming urge rising in me, so strong and raw and powerful. Before I even realized it, I was dashing into the music room, crawling into a corner behind the grand piano and emptying my bag on the floor. After a while, I started bringing razorblades to school, along with some bandages and painkillers. I needed them, really, for when the urges stroke again. They have a tendency to come up at unexpected times. Like during math class, when I'd have to excuse myself out and run to the washroom where I would cower in the back stall and _slash. _

I took out the razorblade. The edge gleamed at me happily, as if smirking, saying "you know you want to, you always do". I touch the metal slab to the soft skin on the underside of my arm, probing for a good spot and waiting for it to warm up a little. I dig the blade in, sliding the edge first at an angel, then digging it in deeper, and deeper still. I felt almost no pain, just the initial sting; the little hiss escaping my throat seemed detached. It never really hurts, aches dully, but then fades away when you take more control of the blade. You see, pain exists only in the mind; if you think it's not real, then it is not and you stop feeling it. Pain is a placebo, like medicine, and only works if you believe it does. It's addictive, anyway. 

I watch the blood as it gathers around the cold metal. For a moment I'm startled to see something so natural and vivid touch the hash surface of the blade. There is an instantaneous battle between the brightness of the blood and the bleakness of the metal, before it is consumed in a brilliant red. I watch with almost perverse fascination as the blood bubbles up to a dome-like shape, the colour deepening. The dome bursts, tiny little streams of red running vein-like along my arm, caressing pallid skin, dripping to the floor. 

It's difficult to explain what I feel when I do this. Just a sense of odd emptiness – but not of the bad kind, a pleasant warm one... It's an addiction, really. And while you're on that eternal high, blinded by colour and sensation, you can almost comprehend how close you come to truly living. The blood rushing throughout my body, my heart's beating resonating in my ears -- that is real: everything else is not. Everything else is just for show. 

My arm is nearly numb; the fingers digging into the palm of my hand are stiff. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes feel dry. I curl into a ball and lean against the wall, watching the fading sunrays filter through the large windows. The dust mites dance like little golden phantasms in the light... It seems so surreal. 

Suddenly, I hear footsteps outside the classroom and panic. _Oh, no, no! It's not possible, everyone knows not to disturb me while I'm practising! What if they come here? What if they find me? No, no! I don't want anybody to see me like this!_ This thought came to me almost giddily. I've been slowly corrupting in on myself; I was dying to reveal my secret to anybody who would listen. But at the same time the thought scared me. I don't want for anybody to find out, I don't want for them to report me, to feel sorry for me.

God. There is a burning lump rising to my throat. I think my heart is about to leap out of my chest. I frantically scramble about, shoving discarded books, medicine containers and the bloody blade into my bag. Hastily, I pull the dark blazer over my blouse. If I were to be discovered, at least they wouldn't notice anything. At the last minute, before the door slides open, I scan the floor for anything incriminating. There's a bloodstain in the floor! I hurry to wipe it away with my sleeve. 

I sigh in relief and a second later the newcomer ambles in. I can see their legs from my vantage point on the floor. I pray that they won't notice me, and wish they would at the same time. _Oh, God, please..._

"Tomoyo? Is that you?" 

I'm startled to realize that I know to whom the voice belongs. 

"Eriol-kun?" Daringly, I glance around the piano. It _is_ him. _No, no! Not him, he'd know, he's surely to realize something. He won't understand!_"What are you doing here?" 

"Oh?" He comes around, crouching down next to me."I come here almost everyday." 

"That's a lie." I huff. " I come here almost every day, too, and I haven't seen you before now." 

"That's because I always come after you. I know you like to stay here after school and I also know how much you like your privacy, so I just come after you leave."

I gape at him for a moment. I should have expected that from him. Eriol-kun is and always will be Eriol-kun, too considerate and kind for his own good. Figures he'd do something like this simply because he didn't want to disrupt _my _personal space.

"So what changed?" I ask. "Why are you here now?" 

He checks his watch and then squints at me, a little smirk tugging at his lips. "It's five to six – you usually leave a quarter to. If anything, I should be asking_ you_ that." 

I check my own watch (on my good wrist) and realize with a start that I've overstayed my due. _Oh, no, my bodyguards would be worried and they'll alert mother, too. In a worst case scenario, she'll fly all the way from Ireland to search for me. Oh, why must I always be such a screw up? Can't I just stop thinking of myself for once and think of others? _

"Are you okay?" He suddenly asks and I see his brows knit in worry. 

__

Please, oh please....

"Y-yeah..." 

"Are you sure?" 

__

Ask to see my arm, or my bag. Ask me something, worry about me, make me tell you. Please, just make _me tell you what's wrong. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod... please. _

I nod my head in reply. "W-why would you think otherwise?" My voice cracks as I say this, I pray that I don't sound as broken as it seems. I can't look into his eyes, they're warm and tender and that scares me. 

"Well, for starters, you're sitting on the floor just doing nothing. And you're very pale, and ... " he touched my face; I cringed away from his warmth. "...you're crying..." 

"No, I'm not!" 

"Yes, you are... see?" 

He shows me his hands; the tips of his fingers are sleek with moisture. I bring my own hands to my face. _God, are those truly tears? How come I didn't even realize it? Why? Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Now he'll definitely going to ask me! _

Eriol traces one tear as it rolls down my cheek. His brows are furrowed together, a fine line shows on his forehead. He frowns. "Why are you crying?" 

I shook my head, dislodging even more tears. I wanted them to stop; I didn't want him to see me like this. "I don't know..."

Eriol's mouth stretches into a thin line. I can see the argument vying for dominance on his face. I am silently pleading for him to question me further; I can't form the words on my lips, I can't utter my secret, so I might as well make him guess. That would still count as telling, right? He'd still know. I'm hopping he'd see it in my eyes. 

He breaks off my gaze. There is sort of buzzing tension around us. The air stops pumping into my lungs; I can feel the blood begin to clot and seep through the thick material of my blazer. 

"...What's that?" He asks after a long stretch of silence. 

I glance down to where he is pointing. There on my pristine white skirt is a bright crimson stain. It stands out like a speck of dust on an otherwise clean window; the contrast is too brilliant, too painful. 

"And there..." Eriol points to another red speckle, on the hem of my skirt, and another on the sleeve of my blouse. Looking at it, I realize that my entire uniform is marred with little bloodstains, as if evidence to my crime. I don't know whether that's a good thing or bad. I still can't decide whether letting _him_ know is worth it. 

"Tomoyo..." he looks up to me and the hurt in them is overwhelming "... what's going on?" 

My throat tightens even more, I barely managed to mumble a broken "nothing". 

"No, it's not a 'nothing,' as you put it. Something is definitely wrong here. There's blood all over your uniform and... and you're crying... God, Tomoyo you're not... are you...?"

I want to scream. His voice is so frantic, so worry-filled; I can't believe I did that to him. _Please, I beg, please just say it, ask me if I ..._

"I-I..." 

"Let me see your bag," he says and takes the mentioned item from where it sits innocently at my feet, upturning it. 

I close my eyes while he shifts through its contents. I knew he'd find the bloody razor blade and the pills, I wanted him to, but that doesn't stop me from being afraid. 

"... God... Tomoyo..." I hear him sigh a while later; so he got the idea. 

I crack my watery eyes to look at him. He is just sitting on his knees, hands folded on his lap, eyes unblinking and far away. Eriol looks almost like a statue, so still and quiet. I wonder whether time stopped just for me, and then feet guilty because it stopped _just_ for me. I want Eriol to move, to shout at me, to cry, to... to anything! Just not that... stillness... it is too much like being dead. 

"Eriol-kun...?" I ask him when the image of him like that begins to tug painfully at my chest. 

I see him blink rapidly for a couple of seconds as if trying to abolish some unpleasant thought. He looks at me, then, long and hard and penetrating – it shakes me to my core. With a sigh, he moves to my side, bringing his legs close to his chest, circling his arms around his knees. 

"How long?" He questions in a detached sort of way. 

I shrug, surreptitiously wiping away a stray tear. "Four, five, eight months, maybe. I don't exactly count how many times..." 

"Aa." Is his reply, then, "H-have you...?" 

"Told anybody? No, you're the only one."

Now that he knew, I did felt better; nothing really changed, I still remained a cutter, just that a bit of the weight had been lifted off my chest. It felt... soothing to know that somebody else had a share of my secret, though there still remained a little trace of doubt. 

"May I see it?" He asks quietly, trying not to look into my eyes lest I see the pity in his, though I already know it to be there. 

"Sure." I found no reason not to show him. He is Eriol, after all. I can trust him; I've always been able to. His presence always brought me comfort – I want to repay the favour. 

Slowly, as not to upset the still throbbing wound, I remove my arm from the blazer sleeve, wincing slightly when the seam dug into the cut. Truly, it doesn't hurt, only stings for a while because tender flesh is exposed to air, but that goes away soon. The cut isn't very deep – I make sure not to make them deep enough to leave nasty scars – but the swelling around it and the slowly caking blood made it look worse than it actually is. I hear Eriol stifle a hiss, as if seeing it made it worse, as if he knew how it felt... maybe he did. 

Tentatively, he brings a finger to trace just the outside of the cut, light enough to not upset the swelling. I didn't even think about pulling away. His touch is so gentle, almost otherworldly, I barely even feel it. Then there is a slight tingly sensation at my fingertips, like a warmth spreading to my palm and onwards. When I blink it is gone.

"What did you do?" I ask him in awe. 

He shrugs and pulls a tender smile on his face. "Just... made it better a bit." 

I glance down and see that the cut is no longer bleeding – in fact, there is no cut, all that remains is a thin white line, barely more than a hair's width. My throat is clogged again. I don't know what to say. All for me, for selfish little me. I didn't expect Eriol to use his magic this way, I didn't know he could still use it. 

"H-how? You still have your magic?" 

He shrugs and sat back, trying to act nonchalant. "I do, but just a minuscule fraction of what I used have. I can't control cards any more, if that's what you're wondering. But I can do little things, like levitate objects, or cast protection spells, or... that." 

"...Can you make flowers appear from thin air?" I ask him. I don't know why, didn't quite realize that the words were leaving my mouth or even thinking it, I just wanted for that uncomfortable silence to be gone. 

"Yes." He grinned and with a pop a bunch of apple blossoms landed on my lap. 

I smile and hold a bloom in the palm of my hand. I always liked flowers; they made me feel calm. I rub a petal in-between my fingertips, relishing the silkiness of it. 

"You won't tell anybody, will you?" I ask after a while. 

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes then quirks his lips up a bit. "...No. There's Sakura and your mother left – they need to know. And it_ is_ really a problem, so... But it's not my place to tell. And even if I still insist that you do, I won't say anything unless you let me. " 

"Thanks." 

"No problem." 

I am surprised that he doesn't sound sorry and glad that there is no pity in his face, but then, I didn't expect there to be any. I'd hate to see him being sorry about something he didn't do and definitely had no control of. That is Eriol-kun for you. He always thinks of others before himself; he knew I'd hate it if he was sad on my account, so he pretends that he isn't when clearly he is. Silence speaks volumes, some people say, when it comes to Eriol, you could write a novel concerning _his_. 

I scoot closer to him. He is watching the sunlight lap at the tabletops and along the ivories of the piano, or maybe it is the dancing dust mites, like I was earlier. 

A question is nagging at me, like some afterthought, and it leaves my lips before I can realize it. "Have you ever wondered...?" 

Another covert glance my way. Wordlessly, he pulls his shirtsleeve up so I can see his arm. There are dozens of little white marks cris-crossing his alabaster skin, but one mark definitely stands out. It is a long, jagged line starting a little off his wrist and moving to stop at the juncture at his elbow. It is far longer than any of my cuts and seems deeper, too. I don't even have to wonder what his intentions for it were... 

I trace it with a finger, like he'd done to me, just without the magic touch and the blood. 

"Why?" I ask. I can't believe it. Eriol, _the_ Eriol, tried to... to die. I can't see why he'd want to. He is perfect, impenetrable, like a god (if he isn't one to begin with). He has everything – friends, loving family (of you can call them that), future and past and potential. He has magic! I _always_ wanted to have magic. I wanted to go out with Sakura and even Syaoran on one of their crazy adventures. I wanted to feel the unearthly force move through my body, rushing along my bloodstream like Sakura described so many times. I wanted it, and he had it. What did he ever have to be sorry about? What could possibly hurt him enough to want to...? He is... God, he is Eriol. 

I hate to admit it, but it pains me to know that he tried to kill himself. I've known him for far too long – we grew up together, were practically inseparable at some point. Heck, I love him. Why? Just, why?

Beside me, Eriol shrugs and pulled the sleeve down, covering the mark. I can see something pass over his eyes like an ocean wave, dark and deep and scary, but then it is gone and he is grinning crookedly at me. It is clear that he doesn't want to tell me, and I am not even troubled by it. Eriol always struck me as a very independent and introverted person. He doesn't want to share his pain because it is his own, his and his alone and thus only he has to suffer through it. There is a great big something bubbling in my chest; he is so much like me. 

I shrug in response, as if that explains everything. And maybe it does. Somebody finally knows my secret, and I am feeling much better for it. I know his secret, too, and whether that makes him feel better or not, it establishes a sort of connection between us. Like two deathly wildcats licking at each other's wounds. 

I lean my head on his shoulder and he let his cheek rest on top of my head. For the first time in a long while I smile – not a fake smile, but a real one – softly into his shirt, hopping he wouldn't notice. We stayed like that, not doing anything, just watching the little golden specks dance with the dying light. And when the evening sky bleeds into night, we both pick up our bags and left for home. We don't say much – I doubt there could be much to say. 

* * * * * * * 

I remember when I just stated doing this. I came home nearly in tears because of something stupid someone did or said about me – I really can't remember, it was so childish and silly. I was in my room, just staring at the wall, pretending not to cry and trying to see if I could make the pattern of the wallpaper transpire into one jumbled colour. I tried to laugh at my own stupidity, but when I did, my voice sounded inside myself, hollow and far away. My chest hurt, but that, too, was sort of distant. I felt... empty. I brought a hand to my face to see whether there were any tears. There weren't. I couldn't even feel myself doing it. I knew that I was rubbing at my eyes and cheeks, but I couldn't _feel_ it. 

It was like I was dead. Hollow or rotten inside. Nothing. Just, nothing. And it scared me more than anything I had to face before. I wanted for it to go away. I didn't know what to do and as I continued sitting there, the void got larger and larger until I could almost swear that time and space and universe stopped to exist. It hurt so much. 

I've heard from the older kids during lunch break that so-and-so was into cutting. They said it was for the thrill, not the close call with Death. They said it made them feel... alive. And then suddenly, almost like on an instinct, I found myself searching for the razorblade I used for sewing. I've done it a couple of times before then and it wasn't that bad. 

My fingers trembled when I brought the sharp projectile to my the inside of my arm. I was so scared and excited at once. Slowly, I moved the blade over my skin, pressing just a bit. Those first times I didn't know how to do it properly (if there is a proper way to do it). I just slashed at the skin but didn't bother to drive the edge deep enough to make it bleed. I was afraid of it back then. 

One slit, two, three. 

Before long, my arm was patterned in thin, rapidly reddening lines. I had to even admire it for a moment. The patches of skin that were mark-less stood out well against the lines. They were just scratches back then, because I didn't know that you had to tilt the blade just so and then add more pressure than you normally would. But I didn't care. I watched with fascination as the skin reddened from the sudden intrusion and rose to swell a bit. I was proud a bit, too, though I'm a little ashamed to admit it now.

And you know what? I actually_ did_ feel more alive. My arm stung and itched; I felt the almost painful air as it touched raw flesh. I could feel. Really, actually _feel_ sensations outside of my body! It was awkward and crude and my arm itched, and I was so elated because of it! For a moment back there, I actually thought I had died!

That was when I started to fill my closet with long sleeved shirts and dresses. At first the marks are barely visible, white and pimply red around, but otherwise barely distinguishable. It's later, given them time to heal, that the marks start to show through. They really _do_ look like scratches, long and thin and almost bloody. The next day, I had to hide my arm from people – clutch it closer to my side than normally, put the _other_ arm in the air when asked a question by a teacher – because they'd notice. 

It was almost the end of school and I was talking to Sakura when she all of a sudden asked me what was on my arm. 

"Nothing." I replied, my throat and heart going numb. 

"Is that pen?" She asked, tilting her head to the side in a very Sakura-like fashion. 

"Y-yeah." I answered through the clog in my throat. 

From then on, there always was something covering my arms. I made it my business wearing long sleeved dresses during summer and formal jackets during outings with my mother. There were times where I absolutely _had _to wear something revealing, like bathing suits. For those times, I'd make sure I knew of them at least a week prior and in that week I wouldn't... do anything. The marks would leave sooner or later, and the scars were nearly non-existent. 

But then, things also got steadily worse. I remember coming home or just walking through the park at evening like I usually do, and I'd see something, like a couple walking, or a stray dog or just anything and I'd feel it, but barely. One time as I was taking my nightly stroll, I saw a man yelling at what I presume was his girlfriend. He was shouting nasty things to her, calling her mean names. She was sobbing and hysterical. And then he slapped her upside the head, grabbed a fist full of her hair and told her to "shut the fuck up". 

I didn't want to see more of that and ran straight for home and the haven of my own room. A show of such open cruelty upset me. I was angry with the man for being such a bastard, at the girl for being unable to stand up to him, at myself for not doing anything. I thought I had problems – what's with my mother never being there for me, and Sakura slowly drifting farther and father apart from me – but seeing the couple made me feel like absolute filth. There I was, sitting in my rich mansion, wearing clothes more expensive than some people got for a monthly paycheck and I was worrying about me? I was so selfish. 

And then I thought about _me_ being in that girl's situation. Filth only deserves to stick with filth. And I started shaking uncontrollably and pulling at my hair. It wasn't fair that some people got everything and others got shit. It wasn't fair that I had a mother who didn't care about me while others didn't have a mother at all, and others still didn't even have a home. And it wasn't fair that I was warm and comfortable while someone somewhere was probably in the streets, cold and hungry and dying. 

IneedtoIneedtoIneedtoIneedto. Ran through my head and I found myself chanting it out loud while reaching for my ever trusty blade. It was my protector, my little token of happiness. For I knew (and still do) that should anything happen, should I want a quick get away from a crime I didn't even commit, it'll always be there, always waiting for me, always offering its support. No matter what, I could always relay on a trusty blade. Heh. It's even more reliable than human touch. 

And as I slashed my skin time after time, the pain didn't go away but kept on growing and growing until I could barely see. And then I dug in a little deeper with the blade and was momentarily blinded by the sheer sensation of it... And it didn't hurt anymore... 

...The marks remain on my arms like stigmas, a reminder of that time, of future times or times that might have but will never be....

* * * * * * * * 

"Eriol-kun?"

"Hm?" He looked up at me from where he was lounging in the grass, soaking in the sun. 

"When you were Clow Reed, you died, right?" I squinted down at him, finding it amusing how his face scrunched up when hit directly with sunlight.

We were at the beach on a school holiday. Sakura and Syaoran were splashing in the water some distance away. I could hear my friend's high-pitched giggles reach the little hillock Eriol and I were on; Syaoran was yelling something in Chinese. It was, in all, a perfect afternoon – the sun was high in the sky, not a single fluffy cloud marring its blueness, a warm breeze was ruffling my hair and my friends were with me... I hadn't... done _that_ in nearly two weeks. 

Eriol shrugged, or as close to as one came when lying down and said goofily, "Hai, in a sense, hai." 

"How did it feel like... being dead?" The question had been tugging at me for a while now. 

He sat up instantly, the lopsided grin falling off his face. He sat cross-legged opposite me, a frown stretched across his lips. "You haven't been thinking about it, have you?" 

"Iie." I shook my head as if to reaffirm my answer. In truth, I had thought about it. I doubt the urge could ever leave. It stays with you always, hidden under layers and layers just waiting for you to crack so it could come gushing out. I've just been squashing it down more and more, if anything, for his and Sakura's sake than my own. I read somewhere or heard from something that power meant not the ability to inflict pain upon something but, rather, to have the ability to _not_ to inflict that pain. 

"I've just been wondering this for a while. Mystery of life, you know. You spend your life always looking out for death, chasing it and then wondering what it truly means, and then before you realize it you're dead. I want to know what to expect when I die." 

He didn't seem convinced but, thankfully, didn't probe me further. "I can't really explain what it felt like. I don't even know if it truly was death. You have to remember that Clow Reed was magical. He truly never left, just remained without a physical form until Kinomoto-san and I came along. It, it was like floating in air, just drifting and drifting through time and space and thought and memory. And then, _boom_, I open my eyes and stare out at the world and you know the rest." 

"Will the same thing happen to Sakura-chan and Syaoran and... you... when you die?" 

Another shrug and he made a triangle-like figure with his fingers, inspecting a blade of grass through it. "Most likely. People with magical powers are rare in this world; everything is taken up by technology. If people like us didn't exist, then who would be left to preserve the Old World? People like us are precious, so naturally our powers cannot be allowed to dwindle. So our souls will most likely come back down to earth in different forms."

"Will you still have your memories? Will Sakura remember me, this, when she becomes a different person? Will you?" 

"I don't know, that will depend. I retained memories of Clow because that was necessary in order to train the next successor of the cards. Whether that would be necessary again with depend on the future. Everything, no matter how small, depends on the future."

A ball was rising to my throat when another question popped up on my head. "Will that ever happen to me?"

Eriol looked up from his careful scrutinizing of grass and into my face. A soft smile was playing on his face, a kind of benevolence that he spared only for me. "Truly, Tomoyo, if I knew, I would tell you. Request anything of me, ask me any question you wish, and as long as it is in my power I will grant it." 

He smiled at me; I smiled shyly back at him. We both settled back on the grass, staring at the expanse of blue sky and the deeper blue of the sea. From my vantage point, I could see Sakura giggling on the shore bellow, jumping to and fro on the sand while Syaoran tried to dislodge something from his hair. 

"Do you ever feel the urge?" I asked quietly after a while of just being. 

I didn't think he'd reply, I didn't even know if he'd heard me. But then the answer came just as quietly. 

"Sometimes. When I'm alone and it's dark and I think whether everything's worth it." His voice carried softly over the gentle hum of the water and the swish of the wind over grass. 

Since I told him, two weeks prior. We've become so much closer. We're always together, always talking or laughing– I've relearned how to laugh with his help. I could even see some people talking about it behind our backs. Sometimes I'd hear a scornful "look at her, what does she think she's doing with _him_?" But as I said, I don't care what people say about me. They're filled with lies and anger and it's their problem, really. 

I'm partially glad for all the attention I'm receiving from him. On the other hand, it also makes me wonder whether it's because he's worried of... my problem and how far I could take it or genially being a great friend. I hoped it was the latter. He came to read me so well. We sometimes finish each other's sentences, and I can almost swear he knows what I'm thinking even as I'm doing it right now. Sometimes he regards me with such sad, sad eyes, it hurts me, but I don't even know why he does it in the first place. Maybe he realized some deep, dark secret of the human kind, maybe he can tell the future. I think he does. 

"Tomoyo-cha~an!" Sakura suddenly came rushing to my side, flailing her arms around. "Syaoran shoved wet sand behind my bathing suit and I think there's something _alive_ in it. Eww! Get it out! Get it out! Get it out!" 

Eriol and I glance at each other and, as if on cue, we both break out in peals of laughter. Sakura stops her wailing for just long enough to gauge our reactions before doubling her efforts at getting the sand out. 

"You're so mean!" Sakura squealed and pinched her eyes shut. "I thought you were supposed to be compassionate!" 

Both Eriol and I collapse on the grass, clutching the seams at our sides. Hearing his laughter mixed with mine, Sakura's wails in the background, the sun shining down and having not to worry about anything but the moment, I think that was the pinnacle of my life up until that point. 

* * * * * * * * 

I stare at my own reflection in the mirror with a start. Is that really me, I wonder. My hair droops around my face in spidery-like strands. My face is pale, almost ghostly; I can see the tiny purplish veins just below the skin. My mouth is pale, too, the once rosy colour subdued to a dull pinkish hue. For the first time, I notice how my cheekbones jut out, how small my ears are compared to other peoples. There are lines on my forehead and around my mouth, long lines that show that at one point this face smiled and laughed but no more. What's worse, I think, is my eyes. They look hollow, dead, almost like the sparkle – the life – had been sucked out of them. There are dark half-moons underneath my eyes, which seem puffy and dark now that they've lost their glow. The skin there had sunk further into the bone cavity than normal, almost skeletal. 

The look on my face frightens me. I look... old...When had things come this far? I didn't even notice becoming this... this emaciated mess. Looking down, I realize that my clothes hang, too. What's happened to me? Just... the will to do anything just for myself has drained away, is that why? 

I bring a shaky hand to trace the image in the mirror. I can't believe it's really me staring back. I touch the area on the looking glass where my eyes were supposed to be, a finger for each eyes. Now it looks like I'm sightless. 

The urge comes up again. I can feel it throbbing in my veins, rushing along with my bloodstream. My fingers twitch; I remove them from the cold glass and almost unwittingly scratch at my arm. I need to. I _need_ to. My eyes shift from one corner of the room to the other, looking for _something_ that would do. You would not believe what a creative mind can come up with. One time I had to use a buttering knife I thieved from the kitchens, another time it was a safety pin. But this time I'm not in the private of my own home, or alone for that matter. I'm at Sakura's and it's late and she'll probably wonder what's keeping me for so long. _God, what do I do?_

My hands shake as I reach for her shaver. If I can just remove one of the blades it would be okay, I can say it fell on the floor and shattered... My hands tighten and I have to gulp down on air because not a lot of it is coming into my lungs. I'm nervous, I can feel sweat trickle down my nape. This is Sakura's house. What if she becomes worried, comes in? What would she think? I don't want her to know, she's too innocent, she won't understand, she'll be hurt. I don't want to cause her pain. 

But it's just one swipe, just a little one, she won't notice... My fingers twitch... Still, I promised myself I wouldn't do it. Eriol'll be upset when he learns of it, and I know he will. Sakura will be hurt if she finds out. The guilt will eat me from the inside. 

My hands still. What am I doing? Why? Everything has been going great. Sakura's happy and so am I, in a manner of speaking. I have Eriol, and he's happy, too. I can laugh again. The things people say don't hurt as much. Why would I want to break it all now? I don't even know why... 

My eyes sting and I choke on a sob. What have I become? I reach a shaking hand for the doorknob and stumble out. I don't know how, but I make across the hall to Sakura's still awfully yellow room. She looks up to me, startled from where she was reading a manga on her bed. Seeing the tears in my eyes she instantly rushes to my side. 

"Tomoyo-chan! What's wrong? Tell me, please!" She holds me close and shifts the two of us to the bed. I clutch at her shirt and try to bite down the sobs, she all the while holds me, rocking me gently back and forth, stroking my hair, and murmuring sweet nothings into my ear. 

"I can't, Sakura, I can't anymore. I don't even know what I _am_ any more!" I cry into her shirt. 

"Shh..." She soothes and pats me on my back. "Want to tell me what's wrong?" 

"I..." I choke on another sob and dig my nails into my palm. "I... I'm a... God, this is so hard... just, please... I don't want to hurt you... I..." 

"I know." She says softly, almost too quietly for me to hear. 

Her words reach me. I pause, shocked. "N-nani?" I croak out. 

"I know, Tomoyo, I know." Sakura repeats sadly. 

"B-but how...? Eriol, he – he promised..." the ability for coherent speech leaves me. 

"Eriol-kun knows?" She seems genially surprised. "He didn't tell me, if that's what you're wondering." 

"B-but, then, how?" 

"I'm not as naive as people take me for, Tomoyo-chan." She snorts, but there is no real anger in her voice. "I've known for a while now. I can see it in the way you act. You've become so subdued, so quiet and withdrawn. Only lately you're beginning to regain yourself back, thanks to everything holy for that. I've noticed first when you slept over one night after a storm – do you remember that time? You were soaked to the bone and had to borrow my extra pyjamas to sleep in because it was so impromptu and you didn't want to bother your bodyguards. The next morning, when I was taking the clothes to the laundry room, I notice a little bloodstain on the left sleeve of those same pyjamas you wore. And there came more times I've noticed it too. Like you'd flinch sometimes when people would accidentally brush their arms against yours. Or that you never wear clothes that reveal too much." 

"Am I really that transparent?" I asked in a small voice. My tears had stopped, but my throat is still tight and painful. 

"Iie, I just know you so well. Oh, Tomoyo-chan, why didn't you tell me earlier?" 

"I didn't want to hurt you. Why didn't you ask me about it if you knew? Maybe things wouldn't have gone so far."

"No, I don't think so. You'd just eat yourself with guilt – I know you Tomoyo, I know you would. Yes, it did hurt me to know that you chose to resort to... that to take away your pain. But, Tomoyo, I would have understood, I may not be as perceptive or smart as you, but I'm still your best friend. And I didn't just ask you because it was important for you to come and ask for help. If I made you tell me, then you would have been have been angry with me or filled with self-contempt, or would have even lied. You see, it's not really helping if you don't want to be helped, you first have to ask for it. _You_ have to realize that there's a problem."

I nodded, finally understand what Eriol meant by "not his place to tell". Silently I thanked him, and Sakura – both of them for being such great friends. I rub at my tear-stained cheeks and draw on a smile for my Sakura. I've upset her enough as it is; there are traces of tears in her eyes. 

She pulls away from me and smiles cheekily. "Now stop moping around. There's chocolate ice cream downstairs and Touya haven't gotten to it yet, which means that's there's plenty in it for us. Are you coming, or will you let me rid the world of another container of ice cream all by my lonesome self?" 

"Sure." I smile at her and get up to follow. 

* * * * * * * 

It's almost nighttime and the streets are eerily silent. I know that my bodyguards will be probably running around frantically searching for me, but I already told them I'll be coming home late, just not _how_ late. There are butterflies in my stomach, and they dance like hyperactive Kero-chans. I suppress the urge to run away. 

With quivering digits, I press the doorbell and wait. All the lights in the mansion are out, which could very well mean that its occupants are long since safely snuggled in bed. The nightly breeze plays with my hair, chills my skin until there are little goose pimples running down my back, and still I wait. 

The heavy door in front of me opens with a click. Peering inside, there's only darkness. Then Eriol's face pops up around its corner. He studies me with a raised eyebrow before stepping into the night and shutting the door closed behind him. He's wearing his nightshirt, which makes him look deceptively boyish with its teddy bears and rainbows.

I stifle a giggle. His brows run even higher on his forehead and he checks behind me as if to see whether there was a whole television crew to catch him unguarded. 

"Did something I should probably know about happen?" He asks and this time I do laugh at the confusion on his face. He grins in return. God, I love that grin of his. 

"Iie. Sakura – " 

"– You told her." He finishes off for me and I nod. He smiles brightly at me and I smile back. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm hugging him tightly and he holds me tightly in return. Both of us have stupid grins on our face, but I don't really care. 

"Now you just have to tell your mother and see a doctor about it." 

"Eriol-kun!"I exclaim and disentangle myself from him, but the smile doesn't leave my face. 

In an instant, we break into laugher, for no reason at all, just because. And the night rings with our combined voices. I'm not cured, far from it. And there's still that fear in me that maybe, just maybe, had I done something differently I wouldn't be with him right now. But he's beside me, and I know Sakura is, too, like my mother will be, and with them alongside me I'll take the road to recovery. 

~*~Finis~*~

* * * * * * * * 

.... I can't lie and say that I made the entire story up, I can't pretend that I was completely neutral while writing this. Some things came from my own experience, though I can't say which exactly. In all honesty, it was the most truthful thing I've ever written. I really need to write this, to just let this off my chest. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I'm sorry if a) your name is Sumiko (that was a pure coincidence) or b) you were offended/ saddened/ angered/ etc. by some of the things mentioned in this fic. 


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